"Of marriage?" asked Vanbrugh, looking at her. "No. If I had, I would not tell you. I have been offered twenty-five dollars a month to teach at a Sunday school--a visitor, who did not know me, you see, and wished to engage me." "And you refused?" "Yes. Foolish of me, was it not? Twenty-five dollars--just think!" "It is a lot of money," laughed Vanbrugh. "Several pairs of gloves," said Dolly gravely. "But I refused. You know the proverb--'be virtuous and you will be happy, but you will not have a good time.'" "And you mean to have a good time. I have always been meaning to--but it is rather dull, all by myself. I am not young enough to be gay alone--nor old enough to enjoy being sour." "There is a remedy--get married!" Dolly smiled, looked grave, and then smiled again. "That is almost easier done than said, if one does not mind whom one marries." "And you do mind, I suppose?" "Yes--I am foolish enough to care," answered Vanbrugh, glancing at her. "To care for some particular person--is that rude, or indiscreet, or horrid of me?" "Very! But I will forgive you on one condition." "I never accept conditions." "Unconditional surrender? Is that it?" "Of course," Dolly answered without hesitation. "I surrender unconditionally--at discretion." "Oh--very well. Then I will be nice and ask what the condition was for the sake of which you kindly proposed to forgive me for what I did not do. Come--what is it?" "You asked if I cared for one particular person," said Vanbrugh, gently. "Yes. Do you?" He could hardly distinguish the words. "I will tell you, if you will answer the same question." "You answer first." "Yes. That is the answer." His hand stole out towards hers. "Yes--that is the other answer." "Do two positives make a negative?" asked Vanbrugh, as their hands met. "No--not in mathematics," laughed Dolly, a little awkwardly, and withdrawing her fingers from his. "Two negatives make a positive, sometimes." "A positive 'no'?" asked Vanbrugh, incredulously. "Sometimes." "But we were both saying 'yes.'" "We are both saying 'yes,'" repeated Dolly slowly. "Could we not go a step farther?" "How?" Dolly started a little and looked at him. "I do not understand--I thought--" "What did you think?" "I do not know what to think." She hesitated. "Will you not let me help you to decide?" For the first time in their acquaintance, Vanbrugh's voice grew tender. "I--I am almost afraid--" "Afraid of me?" "Of you? Oh no, you do not frighten me at all--but I am just a little--" again Dolly hesitated, then as though making a great effort she tried to speak severely. "Mr. Vanbrugh, you must not play with me!" "Miss Maylands, you have played with me a long time," answered Vanbrugh softly. "I?" "Yes." "Have I? I--I did not mean to," she added thoughtfully. "Perhaps we have both played in earnest," suggested Vanbrugh. "But you play with so many people--" "With whom, for instance?" asked Vanbrugh.